


Don't fly past me, darling (I've been in love with you since the beginning)

by sibylla



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Quidditch, Drunken Confessions, M/M, Phichit is an Amazing Friend, Romance, Slow Burn, Teacher-Student Relationship, True Love, Viktor isn't technically a professor, Yuri Plisetsky is an Angry Brit, wingman!Phichit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-14 15:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9190259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sibylla/pseuds/sibylla
Summary: Gryffindor Seeker Yuuri Katsuki Pulls Off Dangerous Nikiforov Spiral, the article had been titled.Of course Viktor wanted a word with him. No one in their right mind attempted the Nikiforov Spiral— especially not bumbling, overweight Hogwarts students who weren’t Gryffindor Seekers anymore, no matter what the article implied. He’d been three sheets to the wind, under the influence of Madam Chulanot’s finest Odgen’s Old Firewhiskey, and flown with half a brain._In which: a drunken night at Phichit's leads to Yuuri's photos splashed across the Daily Prophet. A month later, World Quidditch Champion Viktor Nikiforov, Yuuri's idol and not-so-secret crush, shows up at Hogwarts. His reason? To coach Yuuri.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> YOI cleared my writer's block. God Bless xD I hope you enjoy this story as much I enjoyed writing it <3

  

“Run! We can sneak in! Maybe she won’t notice us!”

“We’re _screwed_ ,” Yuuri moaned as they raced down the dungeon steps. He braced a hand against the wall to make sure he didn’t skid on the stone and land on his butt. His clothes were soaked, thanks to an ill-timed fall into the Black Lake.

“C’mon, c’mon!” Phichit hurried him, and they sprinted down the corridor. Yuuri cursed at the wet  _slap-slap_ noises his robe made and the feeling of his feet squishing into slimy socks.

Phichit stopped in the doorway of the Potions classroom, and Yuuri rammed into his shoulder, both of them panting as if they’d done twenty bleacher suicides. Professor Baranovskaya — “Professor B”, as she was referred to amongst students — stood at the front of the room, imposing as ever in high-collared red robes. Yuuri gulped. The rest of the class had turned to look at them. Yuuri made a small noise as Phichit dragged him over the threshold. He didn’t want to go, no, no, no— Professor B hated him! And he _really_ needed to take a shower and unclog pond scum from his—

“Chulanot! Katsuki! Must you be late to the very first class?”

Phichit smiled. “Sorry, Professor. Yuuri fell into the lake.”

“Katsudon fell into the lake?” Yurio snorted. “Fuckin' pathetic, mate."

“Mind your language, Plisetsky! As for you two: ten points from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. Sit down before I make it more," Baranovskaya barked.

Yuuri slunk into the open space between Phichit and Chris at a worktable. Chris discreetly passed him a handkerchief, which he used to mop his dripping hair. Then he did a double-take. “Christophe,” he hissed, “is this your wank-rag?"

“Of course not,” Chris sing-songed.

Nose unplugged, Yuuri could finally sniff the curious odor permeating the air: it smelled like an unpredictable mixture of peppermint, Quidditch pitch, and dog. Yuuri frowned. _Dog?_

“Can someone name these potions?” Professor Baranovskaya waved a long-fingered hand over the potions on the front table. “Anyone? Not even you, Yuri? How disappointing. I invited you from the OWLs class for a reason— ”

“I have no fucking idea!” Yurio shouted angrily.

“So much for prodigal protégé,” Chris murmured.

“Smells nice, doesn’t it?” Phichit said. He raised his voice. “Is the middle one Amortentia, Professor?”

“Good!” Baranovskaya said shrilly. “Ten points back to Hufflepuff!"

Yuuri elbowed Phichit in the side, causing Phichit to shrug sheepishly. "I only got it right ’cause this entire room smells like hamsters."

“I only smell _you_ , Yuuri,” Chris said in a deep voice. Yuuri rolled his eyes. 

“Lilia! Hello, class! Might I have a word with your professor?”

Yuuri choked on whatever he had been about to say to Chris - he had forgotten already, to be honest - because  _Viktor Nikiforov,_  Seeker for the Russian National team and youngest World Champion, had swept into the room, all silver hair, blue eyes, and smiles. Phichit all but karate-chopped Yuuri in the ribs. _Look, it’s him, it’s Viktor Nikiforov. Look, Yuuri— do you see him —_

“What do you want?” Professor Baranovskaya barked. Viktor responded by shooting the nearest group of fawning girls a gigantic wink.

 _I SEE HIM._ Yuuri glared at his best friend. Phichit’s elbow-jabbing became more frantic, and for good reason. In real life, Viktor Nikiforov was— if Yuuri had to describe him in one word— it would have to be  _stunning_. The black-and-white photos in the Daily Prophet did him no justice. 

“I wanted to talk to you about… ” Viktor bent his head, conversing with Professor Baranovskaya.

Yuuri couldn’t tear his eyes away from the man. Yuuri hadn’t expected to see him— not until he’d ventured onto the Quidditch pitch, at least. It had been, perhaps, the most shocking event of the year. Viktor Nikiforov had — without notice — quit professional Quidditch to take up a post at Hogwarts. He was now their new referee and flying instructor. When Headmaster Feltman had announced Viktor's presence at the Welcome Feast, the school had gone _mental._  Yuuri himself had choked on apple pie and it was Phichit’s handily-aimed Expelling Charm that had saved his life.

Yuuri bit his lip. It was unfair, really, how Viktor was so—

“Oi, piss pot!” Yuri shouted. “Can you stop dripping a fucking puddle over my shoes? _Incendio!_ ”

Snapping out of his Viktor-filled daydreams, Yuuri dodged the jet of flames and flicked his wand over his head, causing Yurio’s cauldron to fly up and bonk him on the head.

“Don't be a prat, Yurio," Yuuri scolded. 

_“Fucking piss pot! My name isn’t— ”_

“You should try a Hot-Air Charm to dry your clothes,” Phichit suggested loudly, drowning out Yuri’s complains.

“I did. I managed to dry my sweater, but my robes are too thick. The Charm bounced off.” Yuuri’s attention, which had mostly been geared toward Viktor, peaked when Professor B reared back and shrieked:

“You come into my class to discuss _this?_ ”

“Well,” said Viktor, “in all honesty, I’m not sure why I’m the only one expressing concern— ”

“You should focus on your own House’s boy,” Professor Baranovskaya said haughtily.

Viktor shrugged. “It isn't my place—”

“You are not a professor, Viktor.”

“I _am_ , actually.” Viktor flounced. “Your Charms professor is in Mungo’s right now. An unfortunate case of spattergroit.”

“Isn't she that the woman from Korea Feltman hired?” Phichit murmured. “She looks like she could be Seung-gil’s mum. Or yours, for that matter.”

“I'm taking her place for the time being,” Viktor announced, and the class cheered. Yuuri wanted to cry. Viktor Nikiforov, teaching the subject that he was the worst at? _I'll never impress him now._

“Couldn't you teach something _worthwhile_ , Viktor?” Yuuri heard Yurio grumble from behind him. That’s right. Yurio and Viktor were family friends… Yurio had hung around him all the time when Viktor had been a seventh-year. _They must be close_ , Yuuri thought enviously.

“Which brings me back to why I'm here…” Viktor looked expectantly at Professor Baranovskaya, who scowled and threw her hands up.

“Very well! Take him, Viktor! I can't call this House favoritism…”

“Because it isn't! How can it be?” Viktor laughed, whirling around. Yuuri’s breath caught when the Russian man’s clear blue eyes found his. A shock of lightning went down his spine, right down to the pit of his stomach, and then to — some unidentifiable area. He was so _beautiful_. Yuuri’s body ached.

“Yuuri Katsuki, am I right? Can I have a word outside?”

The room exploded. Yuuri gaped. Phichit elbowed him furiously.

“Uh.” Yuuri shook his head like a dog. “Y-You mean me?”

Viktor— _the_ Viktor Nikiforov— smiled at him. Smiled. At him. Oh, Merlin. Yuuri was going to _pass out_. Phichit and Chris would have to drag his body from the Potions classroom because it didn't seem like he would make it out of this encounter alive—

“Yes, Yuuri. A word, if you don't mind?”

Only Phichit’s elbowing kept him breathing. _Get it together, man. Get to your feet, Katsuki._ In the back of his mind, Yuuri knew what Viktor wanted to talk about. It had to be about the Prophet article printed over the summer — It had been a small article, barely more than a photo and a paragraph, but:

 _Gryffindor Seeker Yuuri Katsuki Pulls Off Dangerous Nikiforov Spiral,_ it had been titled. _Will He Go Pro?_

Of course Viktor wanted a word with him! No one in their right mind attempted the Nikiforov Spiral— especially not bumbling, overweight Hogwarts students who weren’t Gryffindor Seekers anymore, no matter what the article implied. He’d been three sheets to the wind, under the influence of Madam Chulanot’s finest Odgen’s Old Firewhiskey, and flown with half a brain. He hadn't even done the last half of the maneuver correctly. Viktor was surely going to scold him—

“Move, Katsudon!” Yurio snarled, kicking Yuuri's stool.

“Ah—”

“You’re wet, Yuuri!” Viktor exclaimed. “How did this happen?”

“I— uh—” Yuuri stammered as Viktor flicked his wand, instantly drying his cloak and shoes.

“That’s much better! Come, now. Come, come!” Viktor’s hand closed around his upper arm, and he was dragged into the gloomy dungeon hall. “This place hasn’t changed in four years. Never thought I’d be back so soon!”

 _Why are you back?_   Why did he quit the Volgograd Vipers and the Russian National team to become a teacher at Hogwarts?

“Now, Yuuri— ”

“This is about the Daily Prophet article, isn’t it?” Yuuri interrupted. “I know I shouldn’t have done it. It was dangerous and...”

 _I was drunk_. Yuuri fidgeted and didn’t meet Viktor’s eyes. He probably shouldn’t admit that part out loud.

“No, no, you did wonderfully, Yuuri! That is, apart from your posture during the descent and your frankly terrible landing, I haven’t seen anything like it!” Viktor spread his hands and smiled. “Starting from today, I’m going to be your coach!”

Yuuri was hallucinating. This couldn’t be happening. Coach? “Huuuuuuh?”

“Your coach, Yuuri!” Viktor swooped down to grab Yuuri’s hands. “I’ve played in the League since the age of fifteen and never, not once, have I seen a display like that! My own maneuver, done beautifully by a seventeen year old — ”

"You just said that my landing was off."

“Such talent, in such a cute package too! Of course, I had to abandon everything to come here!” Viktor’s eyes sparkled, and Yuuri opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish. “Yuuri, with my help, you will become the greatest Quidditch player of our generation!”

“This has got to be a joke,” Yuuri said weakly.

“Why would you think that, Yuuri?” Viktor pouted. “I mean every word.”

“You _quit professional Quidditch_ to come here and coach me.”

“Yes— ”

“Professor Feltman allowed this?”

“Oh,” Viktor waved a hand, “Yakov loves me. He lets me do whatever I want. Besides, your previous flying instructor moved to Tanzania—"

_“You quit profesional Quidditch.”_

Viktor’s mouth thinned. “I've played for six seasons, Yuuri. Trust me when I say that it does get monotonous.”

Yuuri wanted to shout something along the lines of _You’re only twenty-one years old!_  Professional Quidditch players didn’t retire until their mid to late twenties. Yuuri took a deep breath.

Viktor Nikiforov was here. Viktor Nikiforov was offering to coach him.

“Is there a catch?”

“No catch, Yuuri,” Viktor said, beaming. Yuuri’s soul nearly fled his body when Viktor stepped closer and... put one hand on his shoulder. Oh. Yuuri blinked. “This will be wonderful! Just you see!”

“Uh…”

“You can pay my coaching fees later!”

_“Coaching fees?”_

 

~*~

 

Phichit found him later, camouflaged in the corner of the Gryffindor Common Room. Rumors had spread through the school like wildfire, most of them a product of sixth-year Slytherin Mila Babicheva’s incessant gossip-mongering. And Yurio talking shit about him. Like usual. All Yuuri wanted to do now was cover himself with a blanket decorated in poodles and become one with the squashy armchair.

And he had been succeeding. Until Phichit showed up.

“Yuuri!” Phichit shook his shoulder. “ _Yuuri_. Talk to me! What happened with Viktor? Mila says that she saw you guys _hugging_. Tell me everything. Was he overcome by your charms? Did you find out if he gay? Did you ask him to be your coach again? Did he say yes?” More shaking. “Congrats, mate! I knew you had it in you! I’m gonna invite every single person I know in Hogwarts to the wedding, including Professor Baranovskaya— ”

“Phichit,” Yuuri groaned.

“Okay, okay. Maybe not her, but. What. Happened? Why were you hugging?”

Yuuri took a deep breath. “He's going to coach me.”

Phichit’s expression was comical. “ _Seriously?_ ”

Yuuri took a deep breath. “Remember when we got drunk at your mum’s house over break?”

“I'm not sure you remember, but yes. Continue."

“Now that I think about it," Yuuri murmured, "I owe this entire mess to you, since it’s your fault that photo was taken."

“You made me send it!” Phichit protested.

“Huh? You told your mum to put it in the editor’s column!”

“Wait, are we talking about— ” Phichit frowned. “Which photo are we talking about?”

“The Nikiforov Spiral!”

“Oh.” Phichit’s face went curiously blank. “Right."

Yuuri squinted at his friend, but couldn't decipher his expression. “Well, anyway... Viktor saw the photo, and— and that’s why he’s here. He said that he'll help me... become..." Yuuri blushed, "the greatest Quidditch player of our generation." 

“Which photo was this?”

“ _The one your mum put in the newspaper!"_

Phichit grinned. “Okay, okay. Just checking.”

Viktor had to be kidding. There’s no way that he — Yuuri Katsuki, erstwhile Gryffindor Seeker — could reach the heights set by Viktor Nikiforov of Russia. Viktor was the greatest Quidditch player of their generation, not him! Yuuri let out a small, pitiful noise and slumped sideways against the sofa arm. “Help me. What should I do?”

His friend jumped over the back of the couch and slid into the cushion next to him. “Here's what you do, Yuuri. You go to Viktor, you look him in the eye, just like this— ” Phichit tilted his face uncomfortably close. “And you tell him that you are one-hundred percent going to take him up on his offer. Then you find out if he’s gay or not— when the answer is yes, you go for it. Do you hear me? You have to strike, Yuuri. Like a snake in the grass— snap snap! It’ll be two-for-one! A spot on the English National team and Viktor Nikiforov!”

Yuuri pressed his lips together. This was more than just about Yuuri’s silly crush. Viktor had quit his _career_ for him. Yuuri couldn't willingly accept that.

“Unless you’d rather join the Japanese National team…”

“I’m not joining either. And please don't joke about… the other thing. Viktor doesn’t fancy blokes.” Yuuri buried his face in the blanket. “He’s gonna go straight back to Russia when he realizes what a big mistake he made. I can’t even fly.”

“You’re a born flier,” Phichit said gently. “You just mess up sometimes.”

“You mean all the time.”

“No one at Hogwarts can fly like you. _No one_ can pull off a Nikiforov Spiral.”

“I was drunk— ”

“Which makes it even more impressive!” Phichit grinned. “How about trying it sober?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve given up on Quidditch.”

“Come off it. This again?”

“I’m forfeiting my Captain’s badge.”

Phichit made a shrill noise. “You’re _forfeiting?_ ”

“After last year’s House Cup final— ”

 _“Yuuri!”_ Phichit whined. “No one blames you for that!”

“I fell off my broom.”

“Okay, so the match sucked for you, but everyone has hurdles they have to get over— or in your case, _fly_ over. You can’t let one screw-up stop you.”

“JJ brings it up all the time,” Yuuri said dourly.

“Yeah, well, JJ’s an arsehole. By the way,” he added, grinning, “Yurio sent JJ to the hospital wing today. He teased Yurio too hard about his hair, so Yurio Hexed his legs into jelly-filled octopus tentacles.”

Yuuri’s mouth twitched. “Is he okay?”

“Yep. Madam Pomfrey set him right in a jiffy. Wanker wouldn’t stop complaining about it over dinner though.”

Yuuri chuckled. “We’ll find a way to Charm JJ’s mouth shut this season…” His laughter trailed off. “Or not,” he muttered. _Since I won’t be on the team._

“Yuuri— ”

“What?”

“You’re not going to resign.”

Yuuri scowled. “Why do you care? You play for Hufflepuff.”

“Yeah,” Phichit said slowly, “but I’m your friend first. And as your friend, I’m telling you right now: You are _not_ retiring.”

“I’ve already— ”

“Viktor Nikiforov himself is here to coach you! That’s everything you’ve ever wanted in life, Yuuri! Don’t you see? He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t think you were good— or if he didn’t like you even a little bit. What do I have to say to make you understand that you _can’t_ quit?”

“It's too late,” Yuuri said bluntly. “I already told Sara Crispino that she can be Captain.” He got to his feet and bundled the poodle blanket into his arms. “Do you want to work on the essay for Potions now or later?”

“Now is good. I'll get my stuff from the Common Room.” Phichit hesitated. “Are you sure —”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“If I won't change your mind, will Viktor?”

Yuuri wavered, visualizing Viktor— Viktor, with his sea-colored eyes and lovely heart-shaped mouth, purring Yuuri’s name in a way that made blood rush to Yuuri’s cheeks.

_I'm going to be your coach, Yuuri!_

_Why would you think that, Yuuri?_

_No catch, Yuuri! It'll be wonderful! Just you see!_

Oh, Yuuri would give _anything_ to hear Viktor say his name again. 

“That settles it,” said Phichit.

Yuuri frowned. “What settles what?”

Phichit smiled.

 

~*~

 

The curtains were ripped open. Unwelcome sunlight hit his face.

“Good morning, Yuuri!”

“Ah,” he muttered, shifting onto his side. “Stop it, JJ.”

“Who’s JJ?”

“My name is Jean-Jacques Leroy!”

Yuuri groaned, covering his head with the pillow. _Shut up, JJ. I'm trying to sleep._

The pillow was rudely pried from his face so Yuuri curled his blanket underneath his head for cushion. He dreamt that Viktor stood next to his bed, resplendent in navy robes that brought out the color of his eyes _…_

_Mmm, Viktor…_

“Yuuri, you're so cute! Do you always say my name in your sleep?”

 _Huh?_ Yuuri’s eyes cracked open. _Viktor?_

“Right here, darling.”

Viktor Nikiforov was … leaning against his four-poster. Yuuri screeched and yanked the curtains shut.

 _Crap, crap, craaap!_ He clutched his heart, hyperventilating. That was Viktor. Viktor was in the boys’ dorm.

A low whistle sounded. “Nice posters, Yuuri.”

“Ahhhhhh!”

Yuuri ripped the curtains open and lunged for his Quidditch posters. Viktor flying through the air in red-white Seeker’s robes while the crowd cheered him on, Viktor being raised onto his teammates’ shoulders, World Cup in his hands, Viktor winking at the camera—

Gone, gone, gone! Yuuri shoved them into his dresser. Goodbye!

“Why are you embarrassed, Yuuri? I think it's sweet that you have posters of me!”

Somewhere in the background, Michele Crispino choked on a Chocolate Frog.

“I— I—” Yuuri stammered, blushing so fiercely he wondered what shade of red his face had become. Tomato-red? Russian flag-red? JJ’s underpants-red?

“Get dressed, Yuuri! Let's go have breakfast!”

And that was how Viktor Nikiforov dragged a half-dead, zombie-faced Yuuri Katsuki to the Great Hall, much to the astonishment of the student body. Phichit watched the proceedings from the Hufflepuff table with a self-satisfied smirk, Mila Babicheva and the rest of the Slytherins (besides Yuri Plisetsky, who seemed to be missing from the group) could be found with expressions of varying degrees of shock and incredulity, and Headmaster Yakov Feltman glowered down at the scene from the high table with such disapproval that it was a surprise that Viktor did not feel the glare drill into the back of his head.

Of course, Yakov’s disapproval slid right over Viktor, as most criticism did.

“What is your favorite food, Yuuri? As your coach, I must know— ”

“Coach? Did he just say coach?” Mila Babicheva murmured to her peers at the Slytherin table.

“I… don’t think this is a good idea,” Yuuri said, nervously buttering his jam. _Isn’t Viktor a professor? Is he allowed to sit here?_

From across the table, Viktor smiled and reached across the table to take a piece of toast from his plate. Yuuri gazed at him, captivated by the way early morning light hit the man’s white-blond hair. It looked so soft. Soft to the touch.

“Oi! Viktor! There you are!” Yurio had stomped through the doorway in a flurry of bad-temperedness. “What are these rumors that you’re coaching the Katsudon? What about the promise you made me, you barmy piss pot?” He kicked Viktor in the shins. “Well? _Well?_ ”

“Yuri— ” Viktor laughed.

“How can you coach him?” Yurio spat. “He’s a nobody! And he sucks at flying! He fell off his broom last year in front of the entire school. Look at him, he’s buttering his jam! What sort of twat butters their bloody jam?”

Otabek Altin, a Ravenclaw seventh-year with whom Yuuri wasn't too well- acquainted, silently put his hand on Yurio’s shoulder. “Yuri,” he said calmly.

“Shove off, Beka!”

“Yuri,” Otabek repeated.

“Who’s your friend, Yuri?” Viktor asked with a smile.

“ _No one!_ Mind your own business, chrome dome!”

“So… uh… How do you and Yurio know each other?” Yuuri awkwardly gestured between the two of them. Viktor’s eyebrows rose.

“Yurio?”

“That’s what we call Slytherin Yuri— ”

_“My name isn’t Yurio!”_

Viktor clapped his hands. “How amusing! It’s the perfect name for you, Yurio! Now I won't confuse the two of you!"

“Huuuh? Excuse me? YOU KNEW ME FIRST— ”

“Are you done eating, Yuuri?” Viktor rested his chin on one gloved hand. “Let’s go to the pitch when you’re done. I’m excited to see you fly!”

_“I’m coming with you wankers!”_

“Yurio can tag along,” Viktor said lightly.

“I have homework,” Yuuri said evasively. Seeing Viktor’s face fall, he gasped and backtracked. “N-Not that much homework! Just an essay and— ”

“Is it for Charms?”

“No, for Potions.” He and Phichit hadn’t made much headway the night before because he’d dozed off midway through the assigned reading, then Phichit had bailed unexpectedly to— feed his hamsters? Comb his hamsters? Make love to his hamsters? Who knew.

“Ah, right.” Viktor tapped his fingers on the table. “Are you in NEWT-level Charms?”

“I don’t think so. I got an Acceptable OWL.”

Viktor looked crestfallen. “Oh, I see. That’s too bad. I was hoping you’d be in my class.”

“You’re not even a professor! You’re a bloody _charlatan_ who can’t keep a goddamn promise— ”

“Yurio,” Yuuri groaned, pulling the foul-mouthed younger boy onto the bench beside him, “do you want me to make you jam and toast?”

“Fuck you! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you— ”

“Let’s go to the pitch,” Viktor interrupted. “Yurio can bring his toast with him.”

Yuuri wasn’t done eating, but he didn’t want to refuse Viktor (who, despite his easy smile, wasn’t easy-going in the least). The Great Hall had now filled, and all eyes were trained on them. The buzz was overwhelming. The voices gnawed at Yuuri's mind, making it impossible for him to sit still. 

_That’s Viktor Nikiforov! Why is he sitting at the Gryffindor table?_

_I_ _s he with Yuuri Katsuki?_

_Yuuri's the Gryffindor Captain... Remember the match with Ravenclaw? He fell from his broom._

_I heard he resigned._

_What's Viktor doing with **him?**_

“Yeah, let’s go,” Yuuri agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt incredibly calm for someone whose world was crashing and burning. “I’ll get my broom.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless Phichit. BLESS THAT BOY. If only Yuuri knew half the things Phichit's done for him TT 
> 
> Holler at me in the comments or/and on [tumblr](https://mi-ru-art.tumblr.com/) ! I take writing prompts!


	2. Chapter 2

 

At the Hufflepuff table, Phichit lamented that he hadn’t brought his camera to breakfast.

The camera, a birthday gift from his mother, was his second most prized position (after his hamsters). _Wish I had it with me now_ , he thought, watching Yuuri flee the Great Hall with Viktor Nikiforov at his heels.  

After a moment, he dove inside his bag to retrieve piece of parchment and a Self-Inking Quill. _Dear Mum_ , he wrote, and then stopped.

Would Yuuri get mad at him if he…?

Well,  after having the guts to send _that_ photo to Viktor… Yuuri didn’t have a foot to stand on. Phichit doubted he even remembered the events leading up to the infamous Nikiforov Spiral. They had vandalized more of his mother’s generous alcohol cabinet, gotten pissed out of their minds, and… well. Phichit grinned. Yuuri would remember on his own (after a bit of… _prodding_ from Viktor, no doubt).

He turned back to the letter. _Dear Mum. You’ll want to read this._ _I have the latest scoop on Viktor Nikiforov and boy, is it Front Cover Material._

“Phichit, what is going on? Why did Viktor Nikiforov leave with Yuuri?”

He looked up to see Sara Crispino, flanked by Mila Babicheva. He had been expecting a barrage of questions from Mila, but Sara… Maybe she was concerned about her incipient Captain's badge. “Isn’t it obvious?” he said with a smirk. “Viktor’s coaching Yuuri.”

“So I _was_ right!”

“You started that rumor on a whim, Mila— ”

“But why is he coaching him, and not Yurio?” Sara interrupted. “Viktor was a Slytherin when he was at Hogwarts.”

Phichit pulled a face. He didn’t like pointing out the obvious. “Because, out of everyone here, Yuuri has the most potential to go pro after Hogwarts. It doesn’t have anything to do with House. Didn’t you read the Prophet over the summer?” 

“We know Yuuri did his signature move,” Mila said, “but isn’t this too sudden? Viktor’s coach said in an interview that he flat-out _quit_ the Russian National team.”

Phichit shrugged, smiling oddly. _Viktor must have been quite taken with him_ … Well, all’s fair in love and war. If Yuuri’s, ahem, _skill_ _on a broom_ caught the attention of the greatest Quidditch player of their generation, then all the more power to Yuuri. In fact, Phichit couldn’t be prouder of his best mate for pulling it off.

“You’re not telling us something,” Mila said shrewdly. Phichit’s grin got wider.

“Maybe. But now…” He stood up, collecting his bag and letter, “I’ve to run to the Owlery! Ta!”

 

~*~

 

Once out of the Great Hall, Yuuri ditched Viktor and Yurio and sprinted up the grand staircase faster than he’d thought humanly possible. He garbled out the password to the Fat Lady, and ran to the dorm. JJ and Michele had left, leaving the space vacant and devoid of noise. He sank to his knees in front of his trunk. _Now what do I do_.

Step one: get broom out. Step two: breathe.

 _Viktor wants to see you fly,_ he told himself. _It’s not a big deal. You’ve been flying since you were four. Show him what you’re made of._

It was easier said than done. Yuuri hyperventilated over his Nimbus for a good ten minutes, then stomped out the door. Then realized halfway down the stairs that he was wearing _robes_. With a grunt, he walked back and searched for his tights. Black tights, black sweater… He threw on his old number seven jersey over the sweater. He’d hadn’t exercised over the summer, and as a result a ring of fat had broadened his middle. _It’s a wonder I’m not waddling_ , he thought, immediately feeling miserable about it. He hadn’t been overly conscious about his weight gain before, but now that _Viktor Nikiforov_ was thrust into his life…

Yuuri wished he was skinnier.

Thankfully, the bulky sweater hid his burgeoning belly well enough. And wasn’t black supposed to be slimming? If he was lucky, Viktor wouldn’t notice.

“Not like he cares,” Yuuri muttered. “He just wants to see me do the Spiral.”

Viktor stood on the pitch, a speck of blue and grey against the vibrant green. It had rained yesterday, so the turf was slippery and Yuuri took care not to trip like he’d done earlier… Only, he didn’t know which was worse: tripping and falling into the Black Lake or tripping and falling in front of Viktor Nikiforov.

“Ah, Yuuri!” Viktor called, waving. Above his head, Yurio zig-zagged through the air, catching and throwing what seemed to be a magically-animated tennis ball.

“H-Hey,” Yuuri greeted, huffing from the long walk uphill.

“OI, KATSUDON!”

The tennis ball hit him dead between the eyes, and he went down. Down to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“Yuuri!”

“Oops,” Yurio said snidely, touching down next to them. “My hand slipped.”

“Are you okay, Yuuri?” Viktor knelt on the grass next to him. Yuuri averted his eyes from Viktor’s offered hand and pushed himself to his feet. Humiliated by a fifteen year old. Yeah. That's _exactly_ how he wanted to be remembered by Viktor.

“Enough, Viktor,” Yurio said, “you can’t be serious about coaching him. 

“I meant every word.”

“What about the promise you made me four years ago?” Viktor’s expression went blank like a modern art canvas, so Yurio screeched: “You _forgot?_ How the fuck did you forget?”

The silver-haired man laughed. “Yuri, I apologize, you know I have a tendency to forget these things— ”

“Christmas dinner four years ago, _Viktor!"_  Yurio shouted, balling his fists. Using the same tone of voice, he yelled something in a language that Yuuri didn’t understand— Russian, probably— then switched back to English: “You told everyone at the table, _you promised Mama_ that you’d teach me! You said I’ll play in the Under-Seventeen League like you did!”

“You two are related?” Yuuri said, astonished.

“We’re cousins!”

“No, we’re _not_ ,” Yurio snarled. “He’s my oldest cousin’s nephew on my mother’s side— ”

“But my father is your uncle.”

“ _Half_ -uncle.”

Viktor frowned. “I’m glad I don’t go to family dinners anymore.”

“Yeah, that’s ’cos you’re a miserable old fart with no social life.”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Viktor said. “Yuuri, how about you fly two rounds around the pitch to warm up?”

“So you’re still gonna coach him? After everything I just said? You’re gonna turn your back on your promise? I’m your own flesh and blood, Viktor!”

“Yuri…” After a moment, Viktor shook his head. “This is not the time or place to have this conversation. I'm positive that you can snag a place in the Under-Seventeen League without my guidance—”

Yurio stomped his foot. “What’s so good about Katsudon anyway? _He’s_ the reason his House didn’t win last year! He ruined their chances! And he’s _fat!_ He’s a barrel of lard! You think _that’s_ gonna get off the ground? Even a Firebolt can’t lift a bloody pig!”

 _Ouch_. Yuuri curled a defensive arm around his middle. “You don’t need to be so brutal about it— ”

“Shut up, pig!”

“Yuri,” Viktor sighed, “I would advise you to talk to your Head of House about training.”

“No! Absolutely not! I hate her!” Yurio fumed, and Yuuri could almost understand why he detested Lilia Baranovskaya. The Potions professor had insisted on bringing Yurio, a fifth year, into NEWT-level Potions, but constantly berated him for not knowing material that even the seventh-years hadn’t covered yet. _Slytherins and their tough love_ , Yuuri thought grimly.

“Let’s make a deal,” Yurio spat, “the first person to catch the Snitch gets you as his coach!”

“I agree!” Viktor chimed in. “Brilliant idea, Yurio!”

“Eh?” Yuuri said, blinking at the two of them. “Hang on— ”

Yurio had already mounted his broom and kicked off. He did a loop over Yuuri’s head and sneered. “Got the guts, Katsudon?”

 _Crap_ , Yuuri thought. Heart pounding, he mounted his Nimbus and hovered in the air. He hadn’t flown since the summer. How bad could it be? He’d catch the Snitch and keep Viktor to himself, or Yurio would catch it… and he’d never see Viktor again. He felt the mad desire to laugh. _No big deal._

After using a Sticking Charm on his glasses, he stuck his wand in the waistband of his trousers, then hovered above Viktor and across from Yurio— the traditional one-on-one start position.

Viktor had retrieved the chest of Quidditch equipment. He held the struggling Golden Snitch between his thumb and pointer finger. “On my count! One… Two…

 _Three!_  

Yuuri launched himself upward at the same time as Yurio. As they cleared the level of the stands, both halted, meters from each other. The Snitch had vanished from sight. “ _Tch_ ,” he heard the other boy hiss, “where’d it go?”

 _Good question_ , Yuuri thought, scanning the horizon. Perhaps the Snitch had ducked into the clouds. But Snitches were Charmed not to exit the magical arena. Likely, it had flown down, perhaps to hover near the ground or the gutters. Yuuri squinted below him. _Where is it?_

Then it hit him, the first rule he’d learned (the hard way) about Seeking:

 _Never_ _stay still_.

He shot downward into a nosedive. Yurio would follow him, thinking that he’d seen the Snitch. _Keep him on your tail_ , Yuuri thought, thankful beyond words that he’d had the foresight to spell his glasses to his face. He gained more speed, occasionally changing direction to throw Yurio off, but his destination was the same:

The ground.

This wasn’t about catching the Snitch, this was about _impressing Viktor_. He knew Viktor’s eyes were on him, and that’s all that mattered. He wanted to keep Viktor’s eyes on him forever. Viktor wasn’t going anywhere. _He will stay with me if I impress him._

The ground glowed fresh and bottle-green and Yuuri tricked himself into imagining the golden shimmer of the Snitch’s hummingbird-quick wings between the blades of grass. He sped down, wind hurtling in his ears. His heart pounded so hard in his chest it threatened to pop out his mouth—

_Keep going, keep going, go, go, go!_

He hurtled down, the ground rose up—

_Viktor._

“YUURI!”

It took every fiber of his entire being, concentration so fierce that his hands slipped with sweat, but— he _tilted_. At the last second, he yanked his broom handle to the sky. His knees grazed the grass. His throat was dry like cracked dirt. Tears slipped through the corners of his eyes. He didn’t cry, but his chest felt too tight to breathe. _He’d done it_. What was Viktor’s expression, shock or indifference? He looked down, but only caught sight of a sprawled figure on the grass. Yurio had crashed.

Yuuri felt no triumph. He was too choked to process emotion. Exacerbated by adrenaline surging through his bloodstream, his head spun. He soared past the stands, and hovered in midair, conflicted on where to turn. _Don’t stay still, don’t stay still,_ chanted the voice inside his head.

_There aren’t Bludgers though. I need to find the Snitch._

_You already proved yourself_ , the voice replied snidely. _If that didn’t do it, nothing will. Viktor doesn’t want you._

Abruptly, thought of the Snitch vanished. He began to shake. His hands and legs went numb when he realized that he was close to a hundred meters in the air. If he fell from this height…

_No, don’t think that! Last year was a mistake!_

And why had last year happened? Because he didn’t feel confident? Because he lost his nerve?

Yuuri froze. He hands began to tremble uncontrollably. A cold wind blew past, causing him to hunch over the broom handle. He shouldn’t think about last year… It was a mistake, all of it was a _mistake_. He needed to land. Point his broom down—  n-no,  not like the feint…  just gently…

He spiralled down in a steady circles. Viktor had run out to the middle of the field. When Yuuri touched down to the ground, it seemed as if his heart would give out. Relief rushed through him like water released from a broken dam. _I'm alive. I'm alive. I didn't fall._ Yuuri collapsed onto his knees and buried his face in his hands.

“Yuuri, for Merlin’s sake! Are you alright?” Viktor’s hands grasped at his shoulders. Yuuri shook his head, too embarrassed to show him that he was crying. “It's fine… There's no need to cry. You did wonderfully.” 

“I— I messed up,” Yuuri whispered. “I lost my nerve.”

“Yuuri, you did a Wronski Feint without warm-up. Do you know how reckless that was?”

“I haven't flown in a month,” Yuuri said quietly.

“It's a wonder you didn't break your neck.” Viktor continued to stare at him, mystified. Yuuri’s gulped and wiped his eyes. “Why did you stop flying?”

“I was afraid I was gonna fall,” Yuuri said desperately. He grabbed Viktor's gloved hand on his shoulder and squeezed. For some inexplicable reason, he felt the need to cling to the man.

Viktor stared at him for a long time; they kneeled in front of each other, Yuuri’s fingers entwined with his. Viktor’s other hand had come to rest on Yuuri’s knee. Yuuri closed his eyes, savoring the small touch and Viktor’s earlier compliment. _You did wonderfully_.

This was the last time that he would be this close to Viktor.

After a moment, Viktor pulled him to his feet and circled an arm around his waist, holding him tightly. “Let's go inside. Your nose is dripping.”

Inside the strategy room sat Yurio, who looked bored as he played with the Snitch. “About time, Katsudon! I thought you were planning on freezing to death out there. And Viktor, I caught it, see?”

“Yuri, could you give us some privacy?”

“Huh?” The boy looked between the two of them. His gaze travelled to Viktor’s arm around Yuuri’s waist and his eyes widened in horror. “Oh my god, _oh my god_. You _slag_. I should've known. So _that's_ why you’re here. That is—  so—   _fucking nasty_. Ugh! I don't want to be seen with you anymore _._ ”

“What are you blabbing about?” Viktor sounded exasperated.

“I'm _out_ ,” Yurio announced, and stormed from the room. He took the Snitch with him.

“Huh,” Viktor commented.

Yuuri sat on the bench where Yurio had been. Viktor handed him a kerchief and he hesitated before blowing his nose. “I didn't catch the Snitch. A-Are you going to be Yurio’s coach now?”

Viktor sighed. “No,” he said, making Yuuri’s heart leap. “If I can't be your coach, then no one else shall get that privilege. But, tell me,” the Russian man said abruptly, crossing his arms, “what could have _possibly_ gone through your mind? A Wronski Feint?”

Yuuri twisted the fabric between his hands. “I just… I wanted you to stay with me!” he blurted. “I thought that maybe if I could impress you…” He squeezed his eyes shut, wincing. _I sound like a lovesick_ _schoolgirl_. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that.”

He stood up, gathering his Nimbus to his chest. He meant to leave, not wanting to be in Viktor’s presence any longer, but Viktor quickly stepped in front of the door. “Yuuri, why do you think I'm here?”

“I don't know, why _are_ you here?” Yuuri shot back.

Viktor leaned forward, coming nose-to-nose with the other boy. “I'm here because you _have_ already impressed me. I don't need anything else from you.”

“O-Okay…” Yuuri swayed back.

Viktor clapped his hands. “So we have a deal? No more Wronski Feints?”

“I-If you say so.”

“And this body of yours? Yurio’s right, you have turned into a little piggy.” Viktor stalked forward and poked Yuuri in the stomach. “You need to get back to the weight you were during the summer.”

“Uh, yes! Yes! I will, I promise!”

“It's fine,” Viktor said, putting his index finger on Yuuri’s lips. “You can be my cute, little piglet.”

Yuuri choked, “Y-Your…” 

“I want this piggy to fly. Can you do that for me?" 

 _I'll do anything for you._  Yuuri's fingers tightened around the broomstick. "That's not asking much. You were my inspiration to begin flying."

“I figured, since you have pinned up three posters of me,” Viktor beamed, ignoring Yuuri’s mortified look. “Aha! When you fly for the English National team, I'll buy a poster of _you!_ ”

“Uh—”

“You would look good in red and white,” Viktor mused to himself. “I ought to make you wear the Russian team jersey.”

Yuuri’s mouth fell open. _What did he just say?_

"Oh yes," Viktor continued, talking to himself, "My Yuuri in red... Wouldn't that be _splendid_..."

 

~*~

 

Viktor created of a list of the warm-ups exercises Yuuri would do daily: push-ups, curl-ups, leg lifts, sprints, and Yuuri’s most hated— suicides across the Quidditch pitch. By the end of their training session, he was sore and hungry and _most definitely_ ready to take a bath. He sweated to the point that he had stripped off the sweater and still did not feel the September chill. While returning to the castle, he gasped in relief as a gust of wind blew over the hill, blowing his hair back and cooling the perspiration on his body.

They returned to the castle just in time for dinner. Groups of students marched past them to the Great Hall, from where emanated the mouthwatering scent of roasted turkey. Yuuri cast a longing look toward the doors, but he needed to take a shower first. A Quidditch player’s B.O. could lay waste to hundreds.

Unfortunately, that’s when he spotted Mila and her crew of Slytherins. He squawked and looked for somewhere to hide, but it was Viktor who did some quick thinking and tugged him behind a tapestry.

“What are you _doing?_ ” Viktor’s hands rested lightly on his waist. “V-Viktor?”

“Just stay like this for a moment,” Viktor murmured.

Yuuri trembled. What was Viktor playing at? He swallowed and stared at the tiny blue baubles attached to the fastenings of Viktor’s silver cloak. _He smells like peppermint_ , Yuuri thought, brain short-circuiting. Peppermint, and… grass.  It was a scent that Yuuri could inhale all day.

Did Viktor know what he was doing to Yuuri? Did he know how much Yuuri was…  _infatuated_ with him? If Viktor knew the extent of his feelings, he would not hold him like this. Yuuri’s poor heart was about to give out. Viktor smelled so  _good_ , and his body…

“I’m so glad I’m here,” Viktor said quietly, just loud enough for Yuuri to hear. 

Yuuri gulped, face warming. Viktor’s thumb brushes his neck, and he shivered involuntarily. The pads of Viktor’s fingers were callused. He wondered what they would feel like, sweeping down his chest and thighs.

“Yuuri,” Viktor murmured, shifting his head closer, “can I ask you something?”

Yuuri uncurls his tongue. “Y-Yes."

“What do you see me as?”

“Excuse me?” Yuuri’s breath came shallowly. Viktor’s face was so close. He wanted— _he wanted to—_

Viktor’s hand came to rest on his cheek, and Yuuri’s heart thudded out of his chest. 

“What do you want me to be?”

“I,” Yuuri took a deep breath, “I— I looked up to you. When I was younger, I was pretty obsessed with you. It wasn’t a secret. I think, everybody knew… ”

“You aren’t still?”

“H-Huh?” Yuuri’s eyes fluttered wide. Viktor laughed, low and melodious, like the school bells.

“ _Three_ posters, Yuuri.”

“Oh. Right.” 

Viktor’s hands curled around the small of his back. “I heard a funny story from your friend yesterday… Something about you giving up your Captain’s badge?”

Yuuri swallowed, “I’m not giving it up.”

“Great!” Viktor grinned and pulled him close, squeezing him in his arms. “That’s just what I wanted to hear!”

Yuuri closed his eyes and hugged back just as hard. If this was all he could have, he would take it. He would take any bit of Viktor he could get.

 

 


End file.
